


What Is This Feeling?

by Val_Creative



Series: Warlock & His Dollophead [9]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, Fights, Hand Jobs, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 04:27:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1591670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had not even been fortnight since he arrived in Camelot and Merlin <i>loathed</i> Arthur. Everything about him. No, he meant it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Is This Feeling?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [static_abyss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/static_abyss/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Что это за чувство?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12652182) by [krasnoe_solnishko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/krasnoe_solnishko/pseuds/krasnoe_solnishko)



> (A very special thank you to my friends on Skype who encouraged this on, even when I was whining, and The Merlin Family as well as The Warlock and His King Network on Tumblr for being a wonderfully excitable bunch ❤ ❤ ❤ )
> 
>  
> 
> Day #9: "against the wall"

*

 

It had not even been fortnight since he arrived in Camelot and Merlin _loathed_ Arthur.

Everything about him. No, he meant it.

Gaius wouldn't approve, but Gaius wasn't his father and so he couldn't tell him what to think or feel, Merlin reasoned stubbornly.

The way he swaggered down the roads of the lower town, flanked by King Uther's guards and everyone giving him an extra wide berth—as if they were scared of being in his path. The way Arthur treated his servants, like the poor, harassed boy with the rolling shield.

He refused to acknowledge how horrid his personality was. Spoiled, rude, arrogant, supercilious, and _mean_. So mean-spirited.

In short: Arthur's very existence. And the gods-awful talk of _destiny_.

Merlin wouldn't take back his decision of slowing down the enchantress's blade and yanking Arthur away from his chair, because he wasn't some cold-hearted _scoundrel_. A life was a life. He couldn't stand idly by. Then again, Merlin wasn't so sure he could muster the will to perform the kindness a second time— _especially when Arthur acted like he was dung_.

" _Mer_ lin, you idiot!"

Arthur's iron-ringed fingers snapped in front of Merlin's face. Right. Merlin was on his way back to the soon-to-be-crowned prince's chambers, having dried out some of the laundry, when the blond man had yelled at him from across the empty corridor.

"I am _talking_ to you!"

"Yah, I can see that," he muttered, folding the tunics over his arm.

Arthur snarled, decreasing Merlin's personal space. Magic hummed under the surface of Merlin's skin, a caution signal. _Attack, flee, attack_.

"You will address me as ' _sire_ ' or do you need a reminder of the cells?"

 _Flee, attack_.

Expressionlessly, Merlin walked around him, eyes lowering.

Arthur's voice called to him, seething with anger, "And just where the hell do you think you're going? I haven't dismissed you!"

"Do you _ever_ get tired of hearing yourself talk?" Merlin called back, daringly. But stars and heavens above them all, he could feel a nasty headache pressing on his temple. "I swear, it's like an insect buzzing around in my head."

He chanced a fleeting glance at Arthur who looked positively gobsmacked, as if he hadn't expected _anyone_ ever speaking ill to him like that. Merlin cheered his success privately.

The shock wore off, quickly replaced by an ominously frigid tone.

"Did you… just address me as a _pest_?"

Merlin said thoughtfully, shrugging, "Well, now that you mention it—"

He choked, his gem-blue scarf obstructing the air from his lungs when Arthur roughly seized onto it and pitched him off his feet. The back of Merlin's head slammed against a marble stone wall, blackening shadows to the corners of his vision. Arthur's hands remained clutching his scarf.

Blinking out the shadows and the dizzy, Merlin stared centimeters from Arthur's face. The other man whispered, hot puffs of breath grazing Merlin's lips, "I could have you _strung up_ for this treason."

He fought for mental clarity, for that connection from brain to mouth.

"So it's treason for t-telling someone they should be a kinder person?"

Arthur barked out a laugh, his mouth quirking cruelly. The sarcasm rolling off him anything but misled from the truth. " _Is that_ what you were doing, Merlin? Oh, allow to make it up to you—perhaps they should build a statue of your likeness in the citadel's square for your _generosity_."

"What, next to yours?" Merlin retorted. His blood starting to boil hot in his veins and a magic far older than Merlin's ancestors screaming inside him _attack fleeattack_.

"Since you're such a _noble_ wanker—"

Arthur's large fingers pinched harshly at the sides of Merlin's jaw, attempting to restrain him.

Out of instinct, Merlin wretched from the compromising position, snapping his teeth warningly at Arthur's fingers.

 _Shite_.

A long period of silence hovered between them.

He could do it. He could. Merlin could push the other man off him, risk using his sorcery. Arthur was probably going to lock him for good in the dungeons anyway. Uther might try to execute Merlin for trying to _bite_ his son's hand.

But… Arthur did nothing, said nothing. One hand still curled in Merlin's ratty scarf.

Merlin avoided direct eye-contact with him, avoided breathing on him, those long, dark eyelashes falling together. It wasn't until Merlin felt the insisting push of Arthur's tongue, widening Merlin's lips and urging them to separate, slimy and soft and warm—okay, this definitely wasn't a punishment.

(Was it? No, no why would it be…)

Merlin _liked_ kissing.

He did. He liked kissing blushing maids and blushing stable-boys and even the blushing, giddy whores. Ealdor never had whores, or an establishment for the services of whores, but Merlin often wandered from his village through the thick of the woods or the caverns, searching out new opportunities and people who weren't so _close-minded_.

Arthur's contact-swollen lips pulled away, but not enough to forget the heat.

Merlin groaned, disappointed and _needing_ to feel that obvious stirring in Arthur's trousers when the prince had jerked up into him.

"I've never met any person like you, Merlin."

He wasn't sure if the note detected in Arthur's voice was admiration or terror, but Merlin was sporting an impressive, painful erection and needed _needed_ this clotpole to think a little less right now. Merlin unlodged Arthur's fingers from his blue scarf, skating them over Merlin's leg as he hitched it up to Arthur's hip.

"Unless you want to be caught, I'd get on with it," Merlin said, mouthing the bob of Arthur's neck.

The laugh escaping Arthur trembled to Merlin's lips.

"Wouldn't that liven up the palace gossip," he murmured, grinning. Merlin grinned back, treasuring its rare, sunny appearance. _Finally_.

This is the Arthur he wanted to save from the dagger.

He kissed Arthur messily, grabbing his ass with one hand, but otherwise letting Arthur take the lead. He didn't mind being crowded against the marble wall, covered by Arthur's front. Never had been claustrophobic.

The torches were already aglow with flame, providing ample lighting. Nighttime seeping in though open-air corridors, unable to chase out the fires. No oncoming footsteps from the hidden stairwells. At least not yet.

For once, Merlin practiced control on his vocal chords, keeping his lips sealed and his moans guttural. But he did land a cracking slap on Arthur's fully clothed ass when he jerked Merlin's cock in his breeches. It was a bit too painful to suit Merlin's lovemaking preferences, especially doing this dry-handed—lucky for him, it was met with a pleased whine.

With a couple more hard jerks, and tiny sounds like gasps flying out of Arthur's mouth as Merlin dragged their hips back, Merlin's fingers clawing bone-white into the meat of Arthur's buttock—he was spurting inside his clothes, and over Arthur's royal hand.

Aw, _shite_.

Merlin's own hand grew sticky and hot with fluid, and he released Arthur, wiping his hand on… one of Arthur's tunics he just got done cleaning.

Double _shite_.

Nothing was going right, aaand…

And, Merlin's brain short-circuited as Arthur raised his hand to his face and dragged his tongue lazily up his own palm, scraping the come off.

"Clean yourself off before finishing the laundry, you stink of it," Arthur said tonelessly, popping each of his dirtied fingers past his lips. He sucked them loudly with that _spectacular_ mouth, but smirking at Merlin's eyes bulging.

Gods above, he loathed this man.

 

*


End file.
